


If I Were a Carpenter

by coolbyrne



Category: Bad Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an Alphabet Soup challenge years ago. V is for Volition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Were a Carpenter

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from ralst.com

**DISCLAIMER:** Much to my chagrin, I don't own any of these characters. Property of SHED Productions.  
 **SPOILERS:** Revolves around S1E9- "Pay Back Time". Otherwise known as "The Kiss".  
 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Written as part of the Alphabet Soup Challenge.  
 **ARCHIVING:** Only with the permission of the author. 

**If I Were a Carpenter**  
 **By[coolbyrne](mailto:fearthejar@gmail.com)**

  

I should go home. Get out of this shit hole. Put my feet up and have a stiff drink. Spend some time with the man who loves me. I pretend not to notice how my mind chose to word my relationship with Sean, just as I pretend not to notice where my feet are taking me, seemingly of their own volition. 

You look up from your book and I feel I don't know what I feel. I just feel. Naked would be a good way to put it, as your gaze looks so deeply into my eyes I think you can see everything about me. I'd shudder if not for the warmth, so foreign to me, that makes its presence known right in the middle of my chest, and all I want to do is cry. Years of conditioning tamp down this weak yearning and instead, I sit beside you. 

Small talk about your choice of reading material somehow shifts to me and before I know it, I'm talking about the very things I had intended to take home with me, bottled up and pushed away. How do you do that? How do you get around my guard like that? What is it about you that lets me open up doors I keep locked? You're a prisoner. I'm the governor, for God's sake. The last thing I should be doing is giving a prisoner something to hold over me. 

And yet, in my heart, I know the reason I tell you these things is because you would never do that to me- use them against me, manipulate them to your advantage, would you? You let me pour out my heard without judgment or deception. I shouldn't, but I do. You could, but you don't. I expose my weakness and you shelter me with a protective arm round my shoulder. Comfort in such a simple needed gesture and I feel my resolve giving way. The tears are there for all to see, but the look on your face isn't one of disappointment at my weakness or derision that I've finally been broken. No, your face is much different- it's it's as if it pains you to see me in such a state; it hurts you that I'm hurting. 

I don't remember you kissing me. Us kissing. It wasn't until later, away from the warmth of you that I was able to close my eyes and recall the feel of your soft lips against mine and your warm tongue as it brushed against my own. I was only aware at that moment of how my mouth, like my feet earlier, had moved towards you of its own volition; drawn to you on a level I had never known existed until we met. Were you just as surprised as I was when I leaned forward not only to return the kiss but to deepen it? I wonder how my cool tears felt on your cheek. Did my hand tremble when I touched your arm? Your mouth. I only remember your mouth. 

It was no surprise that you took the blame. And if I'm to be honest, it was no surprise that I let you, pretending I didn't know how you felt about me, pretending I wasn't taking advantage of that fact. But what else could I say? "No, Nikki, it was just what I needed- someone to offer me a moment of comfort and I knew you'd give it without question"? Not likely, eh? So I fled. 

And yet even now, as I lay beside the man who loves me, I'm still- still!- drawn only to you. Betrayed by my own heart. I shake my head gently against the soft pillow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be different. Even if I have to nail my bloody feet to the floor. 

**The End**


End file.
